


Dance Macabre

by PinstripesAndConverse



Category: City of Love: Paris (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Takes place between episodes 10 and 11 of Season 1, in which the MC really tries the femme fatale thing, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 22:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15129077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinstripesAndConverse/pseuds/PinstripesAndConverse
Summary: The main character attends a party thrown by none other than Vincent Karm, who is celebrating his success a little too early.  She finds herself instead bewitched in the moonlight.  Some things were better left unsaid.  Loosely based on the song Dance Macabre by Ghost.  MC is named.  Takes place between Episodes 10 and 11 of Season 1.





	Dance Macabre

Sophia stared up at the impressive house, suddenly feeling as if she had been thrown back in time.  The house was _old_ , it probably would have been old in the era of Louis XIII, and now it looked ancient.  It was built of well-kept limestone and marble, trimmed hedges, and the typical silence of the countryside.

The chatter and music from a party inside could be heard from the gate, the heavy walls muffling the sounds of the crowd.  The entire reason she was here. 

A date with the Devil and a dance with death.

At least this dress wouldn’t go to waste; it would have otherwise collected dust in the back of her closet.  

It was red, the straps consisting of three strands across her shoulders leading into a sweetheart neckline.  The long gown split in the front when she walked, giving away a taste of skin without being too revealing.  Heels she’d stolen from Kat made her four inches taller than usual, putting her close to Vincent’s imposing height.  

As instructed, she’d come alone.  She’d handed her phone over to the driver, who was now waiting to lead her inside.  She came as a gesture of good will, as a way to bargain for the safety of Paris.

A city miles and miles away.

She followed the driver and was led through a large foyer, through throngs of people in masks and fancier dresses.  The man she was looking for, her host, didn’t need a mask or elaborate costume.  His persona _was_ his costume.

He was celebrating his success in the only way he knew how; opulence that bordered on decadence.  Many of the people around her were certainly drunk, high, or a combination of the two.  Or perhaps they too had been exposed to the perfume made with the Essence of Love.  She was in the world of Vincent Karm now.  Anything was possible here.

Cool metal pressed against her thigh; the knife she wore in a garter was her only protection, small but deadly.  She wasn’t skilled by any means but a weapon was a weapon.  She looked every part a femme fatale, it only made sense to make herself a little more...fatal.

The room was dim, the only light coming from candelabras on the edge of the room.  An odd choice for a party full of inebriated people but this was Vincent, after all.  The roof above was glass, showing the starry sky above them with the moon glowing overhead.  

In any other circumstances, it could even be romantic.  

She politely declined champagne from a waiter; even if everyone else was drinking it, she wanted a clear head for this.  She wasn’t going to go down without a fight, without trying to ensure the safety of her new home. 

Louise interrogated her multiple times earlier, asking her if she was sure about this.  In those moments, no, she wasn’t, but she put on a brave face and faked it.  Now, standing in this packed room, among hidden faces and agendas, she was.  She was certain of her choice to confront him.

They were the only two in the room without masks to hide behind.  The only two with their intentions bared.  Vincent raised his head in slight approval.  His eyes gave her a once over as he often casually did, his gaze lingering on her face before he turned his attention back to the group he was with.  

Did she approach?  Or did she wait? 

Sophia dodged a couple dancing together who clearly had no control over their legs anymore, their spinning almost comical.  They weren’t even in tempo with the music.  It was almost as if they were in their own world, oblivious.  They very likely were, if their glazed eyes and giggles were anything to go by.  No one here was within their right mind, at least to some degree.  She’d been to similar parties before; it wouldn’t surprise her to find a few girls in a nearby bathroom snorting cocaine off the marble countertop.

Just as Sophia turned around to avoid another waiter, she was barely face-to-face with Vincent.  The heels helped immensely and she was thankful she wore them.  Nothing like taking away his most intimidating factor.

 _His eyes are far more frightening,_ Sophia thought.   _Able to see whatever lays in your soul with a single glance.  Devil indeed._

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Cousland,” Vincent stepped back from her and brought her hand to his lips.  She ignored the fleeting thought of how soft his lips were against her skin and didn’t return his almost Cheshire-like grin.

“Aren’t you celebrating a little too early, Vincent?” She replied coolly.  “You haven’t even sold a single bottle.”

His smile never wavered, although she did catch his eyebrow arching ever so slightly.  Questioning how she knew.

“It’s been quite a hit, especially since the press conference.  I have pre-orders that will leave the product backordered for months.”

“And what will you do when the government or the European Union or the United Nations comes knocking, hmm?”

“Friends in high places, Sophia, I’m hardly concerned.”

So _sure_ of himself.  As if his was the hand the world ate out of.  

The thought made her stomach churn in a way it didn’t usually around him.  It wasn’t quite fear but it was more than nerves.  She had nerves of steel for things like this.  Usually.

“I believe you came under a banner of peace, however, so perhaps we can put aside business just once, hmm?”

“This is all business, Vincent.  You of all people should know that.”

Something in the air of the room shifted, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand up, but she couldn’t place why.  He wouldn’t hurt her-Vincent would never consider anything that didn’t save his own skin first, and hurting her would bring the wrath of her friends and probably the American consulate.  It was a subtle jolt, more like static shock than a fight or flight response.  One that grew stronger every time she locked eyes with the man in front of her.

“If it’s entirely business, you wouldn’t be here at all,” his eyes roamed the chaos around them, taking in the revelry before settling on hers again.  And just as before, she felt a shock run through her, her heart forgetting its rhythm for a moment.  “Would you indulge me in a dance?  Consider it an...interlude, before the final act.”

Part of her wanted nothing more than to say yes, to feel his hand against hers, despite the alarm bells going off in her head.  He might not hurt her but she shouldn’t trust him.  Never trust Vincent Karm.  It was a mantra she kept repeating in her head but it wasn’t enough to drown out the desire to be closer to him.  It sent shivers up her spine but whether it was fear or anticipation, she couldn’t tell.

“I promise not to bite,” Vincent gave a smile she’d only seen once before, when he proclaimed to be offering her his heart on a silver tray, before the performance at the Opera Garnier.

The music changed to what she could only assume was a waltz, but no one seemed to mind the tempo.  Everyone kept their own beats, lost in another world, although they were quieter now.  Subdued.

Bastard.  That was the only thought she could muster.  Her mind felt a little foggy, like it did when she nursed a migraine or was caught daydreaming too long.

Sophia found herself nodding slowly, her hand finding his and following his lead.  It was almost as if she was watching herself; that hand belonged to her but she didn’t actively choose to raise it.  

A distant voice in her head hoped he wouldn’t feel the knife against her thigh.

“If you invited me to try and persuade me,” she managed, her tongue heavier than usual as it carried words she realized she didn’t want to speak, “your efforts are sorely misplaced.”

“I think you and I both know the fun would be ruined if we were ever on the same side.”

They glided effortlessly, the room around them fading away in blurs of colors and faces.  All she heard was the music, their voices, the din dying down as she focused on her dance partner.  Slowly, the dread in her chest that had accompanied her from Paris lifted and she felt as light as a feather.  Vincent’s eyes were no longer piercing daggers to her, every glance causing a fluttering feeling in her gut.  At first, she never thought much about how he dressed or his cologne, except that they merely reflected his pompous attitude and padded bank account.  But now, she found his scent almost intoxicating and wondered how she could have ignored how amazingly well his suits were tailored. 

And his voice...it was always smooth, but she felt as if she could listen to it forever.

She felt dazed, the certainty from before nowhere to be found as he dipped her back.

“Would you ever tell me to stop?” She asked softly, her voice sounding so foreign to her ears, and she didn’t recall the words crossing her mind at all.  She sounded almost demure, provocative.  “That if I loved you, I would stop?  Stop chasing you, stop standing in your way?”

It was as if she had no control.  All she could focus on was Vincent.  As if her sole purpose was to adore him.  She felt herself press her body closer to his, closer than they had been when the Essence was discovered.   _Touching_ one another.

Was was _wrong_ with her?  Her rational mind was stuck somewhere, only able to listen and watch for his response.  It was like her body and mind weren’t hers anymore.

“Never,” He whispered, and let go of her hand to cup her cheek, his thumb ghosting over her lips.

Breathing felt impossible.  Her now-free hand fell limply to her side, to the slit of her dress, fingers grazing the material.

She felt his nose brush hers, his mouth daringly close.  It wouldn’t take much.  All she had to do is look up, properly, and the line between then would be erased.  Black and white mixing to grey.  If she _did_ , there would be no turning back.  No return.

So much of her didn’t care.  But she needed to.  She needed to care about herself, about the fate of Paris, about her friends.  Sophia’s fingers found the warm metal at the top of her garter, forcing herself to get a hold of her thoughts.  Vincent’s focus switched to her hair, her addled thoughts filled with how he’d liked her shampoo that night. 

She’d changed it.  She would _never_ wear or use anything with citrus in it again.  She couldn’t let herself be reminded of how easy it would be to switch, how close she came to pushing away her morals, her ethical responsibility.  It would have been so _easy_ to work for Vincent, to let him do as he pleased and let Paris continue to be his playground.  

But she couldn’t.  Because the easiest route wasn’t always _right_.

So why did it feel like it was?  Not for the city, no, but for her.  If she could ever bring herself to be that selfish.

Sophia looked up, seeking the warmth of his breath against her lips again.  She’d never forgotten what this was like, the intoxication of possibilities that could unfurl after a moment like this.  But it felt so different.  Intense.  She feared she would never feel this way about anyone ever again.  She wanted it, _needed_ it, for as long as she could have it...

Before their lips could touch, Sophia pressed the blade of the knife to Vincent’s throat, their faces millimeters apart.  He didn’t look surprised or even remotely fazed by the weapon itself; he seemed more taken aback that she was the one holding it.

“Leave it to you to always find a way,” he murmured, his words a mix of reverence and frustration.

The music came to an end and the room around them came crashing back.  Sophia stepped back, keeping the knife aimed at Vincent.  She didn’t miss the bob of his Adam’s apple as he nervously assessed the situation.   The once-crowded hall was empty, devoid of any other living beings, save a few unconscious figures, masks slightly askew.  The polish and opulence from mere moments ago was gone, replaced with the aftermath of too many people in a single space.  Glasses everywhere, stray shoes and other garments Sophia could have lived without seeing.

“What did you _do_ to me?”  She hissed.

“Nothing you didn’t already want,” Vincent quipped, eyes flickering to her hand for a moment before meeting her gaze again.  A bead of sweat was forming at his temple and he was clearly more addled than he let on.  “Did you think I’d only find _one_ way to make use of the Essence?”

“Explain.  Now.”

“Lower the bloody knife.  Or at least have the gall to handle it correctly if you’re going to threaten me.”

“I don’t need to hold it properly to actually _make_ it bloody.”

She didn’t feel as brave as her words made her seem.  But the threat appealed to Vincent’s self-preservation and he finally realized that she would do what she had to.  His green eyes widened when she pressed the knife against his neck again for good measure.  He was a coward, never dirtied his hands, and he always liked to gloat to boost his ego.  

As she predicted, he caved and stepped back from her.  He recovered quickly and the expression of slight terror and unease vanished, replaced by the arrogance she knew so well.

“Everything is made of energy and matter.  The Essence is no different.  Energy creates wavelengths, which create frequencies.”

“I didn’t come here for a science lecture, Vincent.”

He glared at her but continued on, walking around her in a circle, arms behind his back.  Trying to re-establish himself as predator.

“The higher the frequency, the shorter the wavelength, the greater the energy.  Did you ever notice how the Essence has a slight hum to it?  It can sound like the faintest chimes of a bell or a piano note.”

“I was a little preoccupied, if you recall.”

He continued on as if she hadn’t spoken.

“It wasn’t hard to match the frequency; it targets the same centers of the brain as the Essence’s chemical makeup does.  Lowers inhibitions and self-preservation.  Raises general arousal and the importance of another.  Except it’s not able to copy it completely.”

“Why didn’t it affect everyone when it was unearthed, then?”

“It wasn’t isolated and it is naturally fairly weak.  Untethered, it can be adjusted and played with as fits the occasion.”

“Such as music,” Sophia finished, her jaw set.

He’d played her.   _Again_.

“Except it’s more subtle.”

“And you know _all_ about subtlety.”  Sophia couldn’t help the bitterness and annoyance that escaped her lips.

“I know how much you _hate_ it,” Vincent replied, offering a sly grin as he continued his pacing.

“It’s an American thing,” She shrugged, never letting her eyes leave the man tracing a path around her.

He gave a derisive laugh and nodded before he turned to face her.  Vincent glanced over her shoulder for a second and she felt strong hands pull her arm down and wrench the knife from her hand before they grasped her upper arms carefully.  It was a firm hold, keeping her in place without enough pressure to bruise.

Vincent closed the distance and cocked his head slightly as he looked at her.  Something in his eyes said this would be her last chance before their final act.  Her last chance to take up his offer, to stand beside him as Paris became an intoxicated, capitalistic playground.

“It only brings out that which already exists, Sophia Cousland.  As I said, I didn’t do anything you didn’t already _want_ ,” he whispered.  “Even if you stick to your principles, it doesn’t mean another part of you, a darker part you refuse to acknowledge, doesn’t long for something different.  For something _more_.”

 _He’s wrong_.

It was a mantra she kept repeating in her head until it just became a single word as she was taken away, her phone pressed back into her hand as she was ushered back into the car.  She leaned back against the headrest, cursing herself, cursing _Vincent_.  He didn’t know her and yet he did.  He’d given her a taste of what was to come, what the Essence could be like, what it could do.  What awaited her if she gave in.  And yet he’d managed to give her nothing at all, nothing that would make him back down in exchange for Paris’ safety.

Sophia brought a finger to her lips and wondered if a kiss from him would sting or burn.  She shivered at the idea, although whether in repulsion or excitement, she couldn’t tell.  She didn’t entirely care.

The drive back to Paris was quicker than she anticipated and soon enough, she was unlocking the door to her building.  She shed the dress when she got into her bedroom and threw it onto a chair, not wanting to look at it.

She’d never wear it again.

The bells of Notre Dame struck midnight in the distance as she curled up in bed to get what sleep she could.  Sophia found her thoughts instead wandering to what would have happened as Vincent’s words echoed in her mind again, only this time she was too tired to be angry about them.

 _He was right_.


End file.
